


The Conversation

by Personne



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Hank Anderson & Connor Parent-Child Relationship, Hank Anderson isn't getting any younger, One Shot, Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Connor, detroit become family event, no beta we die like men, prompt: future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:55:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24980416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Personne/pseuds/Personne
Summary: Hank is human. Connor knows where that goes. There's a conversation to be had, but it's a problem for future him.a.k.a. my contribution to the Detroit: Become Family event on tumblr. Week 4, prompt: future!
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 10
Kudos: 68





	The Conversation

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [La Conversation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24981076) by [Personne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Personne/pseuds/Personne). 



One early March evening, when the softening weather was done melting the snow, Connor and Hank were slouched in the old couch and watching telly in comfortable silence. To be true, that was what most of their evenings were like since the revolution. 

Jericho’s peaceful revolt had paid off, and deviants were gradually integrating into human society - society that was, relatively speaking, not so bad at adapting to the coexistence with this new form of sentient life. However, the transition wasn’t going without problems. The most pressing matter was probably the economy, and many androids, once freed from servitude, were left with no roof above their head or money. Connor hadn’t had time to even begin to think about his own situation when Hank had offered him to stay at his place for as long as he needed. Or had he said: as long as he wanted? 

Either way, Hank’s house felt like home to Connor. And that was a strange thing, really: nothing in his programming could explain how cosy this familiar place made him feel. Everything about him was supposed to crave movement, action, change: that he actually enjoyed the warm quietness of Hank’s house was surprising to him. 

A snore interrupted his thoughts, and Connor let a fond smile stretch his artificial lips. Hank had fallen asleep, as he often did - regardless the movie they were watching - with his head hanging back on the couch, slight gap between the front teeth visible between half parted lips. Well, the days were getting pretty intense at the DPD, Connor had to give him that. 

Ever since Connor had been allowed to work back at Hank’s side as a junior detective, the android-related files had systematically been assigned to the two of them, and there were more of them with every passing day. Although the production of new units had been temporarily suspended, a lot of androids were still waking up, joining the growing ranks of the deviant population. Which, in addition to a variety of logistical issues, was definitely not to everyone’s liking. 

The official status of androids was still being debated by the Congress, but in the eyes of the law, they already were considered equals to mankind in front of the executive branch. To maintain public order, deviants were bound to the same rules of social life as humans, and, in return, were entitled to the same protection. And that proved to be an increasingly difficult task for the police. Sure, quarrels and fights between reluctant humans and resentful androids were frequent, though rarely serious. But these days, reported cases of violences and murders between species were increasing, and those were the files Hank and Connor were on. Kidnappings, organized fight clubs, black market, crime scenes were happening more and more, week after week, and even though the two partners managed to close each case without too many trouble, the workload wasn’t any less crushing. 

Not that Connor would even think about complaining. He was too happy to have been allowed back to work, too happy to see his help was particularly helpful on the field. Of course, he did deplore those conflicts between humans and androids, but wasn’t too worried about them: no change ever came without a fight, and globally, the movement was going towards the right direction. There was a lot of work to be done, but he had energy to spare. 

His partner didn’t, though. He had picked - back? - up on going to the office early, and that was a good thing, but it forced him to wake up early, and, lately, working overtime was becoming the usual. His new pace of life had made him drop his long nights at the bar, but he still showed obvious signs of tiredness - not to mention the withdrawal symptoms that occured when he cut down his daily dose of alcohol, and that let him even more exhausted. He, too, was struggling to stay on the right path, and Connor was proud of him. 

To take some of the weight of domestic work off his shoulders, Connor was cooking. It also was his way of supporting him in his efforts, and of thanking him for… his hospitality, his presence, his help, his affection - _everything_. Hank had protested, at first, seemingly embarrassed, but the deviant had insisted and, quickly growing bored of these discussions, Hank had given in. The time for takeaways and fast foods seemed to be over, and so was the time for ethylic comas and russian roulette. 

Thus, a kind of routine had settled in: they spent long days at work, Connor cooked while Hank was letting Sumo out and taking a shower, they sat together while Hank ate and babbled together, did the dishes, and ended up in the couch for the rest of the evening. They sometimes used the old game console Hank had taken out of his closets, or kept on chatting while listening to some jazz, but most of the time, they agreed on a movie Hank would finally fall asleep watching. That night, not for the first time, looking at Hank dozing off next to him, seeing him relaxed, safe and sound, Connor told himself he wouldn’t change this routine for anything in the world. 

Yet he couldn’t let the moment drag on forever. Firstly, because he wasn’t that curious about the end of the movie - he would _not_ tell Hank, but in his opinion, _Back to the future_ was proving somewhat disappointing. Secondly, because the position his partner had fallen asleep in would, over time, become very uncomfortable and likely cause him pain in the neck. Lastly, because… 

_“Ugh, great,” Hank had grumbled while carefully stretching his back after a loud crack had drawn Connor’s attention._

__

__

_“Is something the matter, Lieutenant?”_

… because Connor had to be at his second workplace fifty-three minutes and six seconds from now, he realized after checking his internal clock. 

_“Nah,” Hank had answered, “my back’s just… a little rusty, ‘s all. Dunno how the fuck I still manage to forget I’m not getting any younger,” he had added with a short laugh._

__

__

Connor hadn’t laughed at all. He’d opened his mouth and closed it without saying a word. They had been at the station, with their colleagues around them. It was possibly a sensitive topic for Hank. 

It definitely was for Connor. 

_That was a conversation for another day, he had decided._

Fifty-two minutes and fifty-seven seconds remaining, Connor corrected. By then, he had to make sure Hank was fast asleep in his bed, gather his things and leave unnoticed. He shook his head to dismiss the last pieces of the memory and waited for his LED to fall back into its usual quiet, pale blue before speaking up. 

“Hank, you are falling asleep,” he informed softly, but loud enough to get a reaction out of his partner. 

He had consciously started calling Hank by his name shortly after the revolution, and that wasn’t really Connor’s doing. His systems had always made him use the title, and when he had deviated, the habit had already been running deep. He probably wouldn’t have thought about changing it had Hank not brought it up. _“Hey, y’know what, I stop referring to you as a ‘it’ and you drop the ‘Lieutenant’ crap,”_ he’d said. _“After all we’ve been through, I think we’re a little past that,”_ he’d hastily added before Connor could protest, addressing him a wink - _a wink!_ Connor had immediately modified his protocol. Well, he still _did_ call him “Lieutenant” sometimes, but only for teasing. Or scolding. 

“Mphff…” Hank grunted, shifting a little on the couch. 

“You would be better off in your bed, don’t you think?”

“Mmyyeah.”

Connor interacted with the screen to power it off, LED cycling yellow briefly. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that, from the way he was stirring, Hank’s neck was already sore from the uncomfortable position.

“What time is it?” his partner mumbled through gritted teeth. 

“Nearly eleven p.m.”

Hank let out a hoarse puff. 

“Jesus, since when am I out this early?”

The Connor from before would probably have answered the question quite literally. _It’s been twenty-five consecutive days, but you have occasionally been to sleep around eleven p.m. for ten weeks._

The new Connor understood, between the lines, what Hank actually meant. 

“It’s okay, Hank. It’s been a tough week, and your alarm clock will wake you up a few minutes before the recommended eight hours of sleep.”

“And whose fault is that,” the lieutenant muttured, but his voice was bearing the warmth of a smile. He let out a long yawn before getting on his feet. 

“We’ll watch the rest of the movie later,” Connor proposed lightly. 

“I don’t think you want that very much,” Hank taunted. 

Connor shrugged, but couldn’t hide a guilty smile in admission. 

“That’s what I thought. Must admit, it isn’t as good as I remembered,” Hank added, perplexed, and turned to the kitchen. 

“I don’t doubt it.”

His partner gulped down a glass of water and, after another yawn, went for his room. 

“Night, Connor,” he said with a wave before leaving the room. 

“See you tomorrow, Hank.”

The deviant busied himself with tidying up the living room until he didn’t hear any movement in the next room. Like every other night, he kneeled beside Sumo to scratch him behind the ears, then went to sit back on the couch a book in hand. Hank did sometimes wake up in the first moments of his night, when, at the border of sleep, he suddenly remembered something he had to write down.

When, twenty minutes later, Connor’s sensors told him his partner was entering a phase of light sleep, he slowly got to his feet and went to the bathroom, where a suitcase was lying. His few personal belongings were gathered inside - nothing important, really. Just some spare clothes, a few ties with different shades of grey and blue, a pair of fish-decorated socks Hank had gifted him. 

And his night uniform. 

As quietly as he could, he took it and put it in a backpack, way more discreet than his metallic case. He also packed his carefully folded jacket in there - he couldn’t keep it on his shoulders, but he had to put it back before he came home - and he covered his head with a black beanie. 

In his everyday life, despite deviancy, he didn’t care about hiding his identity. He had never considered taking his LED off. Sure, he hadn’t felt any ounce of regret when separating from his worn out Cyberlife jacket, but he had replaced it by a very similar one, which reminded him of his former uniform. It was his usual appearance, and it suited him. He hadn’t had the opportunity to try other dress styles yet, anyway. 

Yet, at his second workplace, the clientele didn’t always like to see androids. As a precautionary measure, the management had asked their non-human employees to avoid showing clear signs of their true nature. Connor, in particular, knew he was relatively famous - or infamous, perhaps, depending on the point of view. Due to his implication in the deviancy cases and the revolution, he had been on display on every main information channel for weeks. That’s why, at night, to avoid being recognized, he took of his vest, which reminded too much of his old suit, and hid his LED with the beanie, which seemed to mask his face enough to make him anonymous to most humans. To those he crossed path with at his second job, anyway. 

One last time before leaving, he checked on the vital signs of his partner - who was, undoubtedly, not far from drifting into a deeper cycle of sleep - and those of Sumo - who was snoring almost as much as his master. Satisfied, he adjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder and mentally called for a cab while locking the front door behind him. 

He arrived ten minutes ahead of his schedule and hold back an exasperated sigh when, as soon as he was out of the vehicle, the sound of the basses made his auditory sensors vibrate. 

All fluorescent lights and deafening music, the _Rooftop_ inspired him mixed feelings. Well, it was quite classical, as far as nightclub went: apart from the roof that was actually a VIP zone, most of the clientele was crowding in the large rooms of the first stories, composed of dancefloors, bars, and a lot of dark corners. Nothing too out of the ordinary. He supposed it was the concept itself that he didn’t quite get. The disproportionate affluence, the hot and sweaty proximity, the smell, the music: everything seemed exaggerated, unreasonable, superfluous to him.

In comparison, _Jimmy’s bar_ appeared a more judicious choice to spend a relaxing evening. 

That being said, nobody was asking for his opinion. 

Connor bypassed the main entrance to find the service door. Even with his beanie screwed low on his temples and his jacket hidden in his bag, he wasn’t willing to risk walking through the crowd of customers: the way he looked in his shirt and daytime jeans still made him a little too recognizable for his taste. He nodded to the guard watching for staff access, walked to the locker room and put on the black trousers and T-shirt that served as his uniform.

At this time of the year, the dark bomber jacket with the big “SECURITY” printed on the back was regulatory, seeing as temperatures were still low once the sun was down. Connor hung a fluorescent armband on it before installing his earpiece. None of this was necessary to him - he wasn’t that sensitive to the cold, and was able to communicate without any device - but the equipment was making him look human, and Connor didn't mind. 

He was still a little early, but he didn’t mind that either. After sparing a glance to his reflexion in the mirror, he went out by the service door to walk to the main entrance, avoiding the inside of the club and its compact mass of sweaty, half-naked men and women as much as possible. 

He loosened up as he approached the silhouette of the bouncer already there.

[34 years old, height: 6’ 1”, weight: 224 pounds, freshly shaved head]

“Good evening, James,” he said approaching. 

“Hi, Connor,” answered his colleague, and if he was using his real name despite all the precautions taken to conceal his identity, it was because a name was easier to forget than a face, and because Connor had mostly been presented on television as the Model RK800. The _Rooftop_ ’s management had not seen any point in assigning him a pseudonym.

“How is it today?”

“Busy,” James grimaced in his gruff tone. “End of the winter, end of the week… People want to let loose tonight. It’s crowded.”

“I can see that much,” said Connor, running a quick scan of the people lining up in front of the entrance. 

Connor counted no less than three other bouncers at the main entrance. That was unusual. 

“The crew is always reinforced when the weather gets nicer," James continued, as he had apparently been following his gaze. “In Detroit, spring means beginning of the high season for clubs. Especially this year, after the crisis... well, you know.”

Connor didn’t push his colleague to finish the sentence he had deliberately left hanging. He was talking about the “android crisis”, as it was referred to by the humans who were more reluctant to change. James wasn’t one of them, he knew. He just happened to live and work in an environment where such opinions were common. So he would sometimes pick up the expression, even though he always seemed embarrassed upon realizing it. 

“I know,” Connor provided him. “It’s difficult for some to adapt to the new situation. People need to go out as a distraction.”

“Yeah,” James approved, visibly relieved his colleague didn’t snap at him. 

They discussed for a bit longer, then took their shift at the entry, so that the three other bouncers could step behind, in back-up. That’s how the night was going to go: in turn, the bouncer group he was part of was going to check the entries and keep a watchful eye on what was going on outside the club. Around three a.m., they would switch shifts with the second team and ensure the security of the few first floors. This shift was meant to maximize the focus of both teams, and Connor had to admit the process has its merits - although he’d personally rather spend his entire night’s work outside the _Rooftop._

It had been three months and seventeen days since Connor had been hired by the nightclub as a reinforcement. His schedule was always the same: his presence wasn’t required for the usually quiet opening of the club, so he was expected at midnight at the main entrance, and couldn’t leave until the last customer had left the premises. Which could potentially drag him until dawn, but for now, he had always been released at around 5:30 am. 

That wasn’t a big schedule, but it allowed him to keep his second work a secret. 

It wasn’t a fascinating job, but he needed money. 

So even if the detective in him was gritting his teeth after one hour of this insignificant work - a far cry from his thrilled days at the DPD - he would never even think about complaining. And giving up, even less so. 

* * *

“Shit,” Connor hissed between clenched jaws before executing the preconstruction he’d chosen to give his coworkers a hand. 

James had been right: the night had been _busy_. The club had been more crowded than it usually was, and there had been a lot of fighting. Which was complicating his nocturnal routine, Connor thought while immobilizing one of the troublemakers with an arm wrench, soiling his uniform in the process. The club’s floor was sticky from the various alcoholic beverages spilled by customers, and the deviant frowned, annoyed that he’d had to dirty his clothes. The man had attacked one of his fellow members of the security team, and Connor hadn’t hesitated to choose the most effective option to render him harmless. The situation was regrettable nonetheless. 

“Let go of me, asshole!” bawled the man below him [27 years old, height: 5’ 6”, weight: 163 pounds], struggling clumsily and panting furiously. In response, Connor tightened his grip, pressing the man’s cheek against the filthy ground. Knowing the man under him was in a position this uncomfortable somewhat diminished his frustration with the state of his uniform. 

A quick scan of his surroundings told him the situation was under control. A woman [28 years old, height: 5’ 7”, weight: 149 pounds] was also being held down by James, and their colleagues were firmly holding back two other men. The rest of the group was standing a few paces away, visibly confused. There wasn’t a lot of people left to witness the fight: the club had officially closed its doors twenty minutes earlier, and most of the clients had been evacuated without a hitch. The remaining group consisted of two gangs of visibly drunk people, who had started fighting each other before turning against the security that had tried to separate them. Which, given their advanced state of inhibition, was both typical behaviour and a very bad idea. 

The man under Connor was finally calming down, wiggling weakly and without much conviction, grunting from discomfort rather than aggressivity. 

“We are going to escort you to the exit,” Connor claimed in a firm, authoritative voice. “In your own best interest, I advise you not to put up any resistance.”

“Yeah, alright,” mumbled the woman James had blocked. “We’ll be good.”

After exchanging a nod with his colleagues, Connor pinned the man’s arms behind his back and grabbed his wrists firmly as they got up. The gangs did indeed let the bouncers guide them outside without further protesting. Once freed, their members retreated staggering in the streets of Detroit - but not without spitting at the feet of the security for good measure. 

“Now that’s a paycheck I think I deserve,” James breathed, wiping his forehead. 

“I know, right? What a shitty night,” security agent Ethan grumbled before turning to Connor. “By the way, thanks, man. Couldn’t get rid of that prick,” he said, referring to the human Connor had subdued.

“That’s why I’m here,” the deviant answered, but he nodded to show he appreciated the sentiment. 

“Yeah, thank God for that,” agent Lenny added. “Honestly, considering the night we’ve just had, I don’t know how we’d manage without you.”

Coming from him, there was a weight to the compliment, Connor thought. When they’d met, Lenny had seemed rather hostile: perhaps because, like many humans, he had feared that he would be replaced by a more efficient, cheaper labour force. The _Rooftop_ had never used androids before the revolution, and Connor had realized his arrival as the first deviant employee had raised concerns. Concerns he now believed were unfounded: the nightclub’s owner had hired a few other androids for bar and cleaning, but hadn't fired a single human. He had made it clear that he wanted to protect the position of his employees, who came from disadvantaged social backgrounds, and had only used androids because he had quickly needed reinforcements in anticipation of what was expected to be a turbulent season.

His human colleagues seemed to realize that now, too, and the work atmosphere had been better lately. 

“You flatter me, Lenny,” he answered with a smile. 

“Well, guys, no point in hanging around here any longer,” announced Tyler, the group’s oldest bouncer, checking the watch inside his left wrist. “We’re gonna find the others and make one last round to make sure everybody’s gone, and then we’ll go for coffee at Maddie’s, what d’you say?”

The idea gave the group a boost, and the bouncers went back in for their final round. After checking every corner of the building, the two security teams changed in the locker rooms and reunited in front of the service entrance. Tyler joined them after exchanging a few words with the cleaning team.

“Coming with us, Connor?” Ethan asked as he lit a cigarette. 

“Thank you for proposing, but I can’t,” Connor replied with an annoyed smile. “I have other places to be.”

“Next time then,” said James, shrugging. “I’m off duty tonight, but I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Connor confirmed as he walked away, tightening his grip on the strap of his backpack. “Have a nice day, everyone!”

The security guards saluted him back before setting off on their own. Conor walked to the nearest laundromat a few blocks away. It was the first time his coworkers were going for coffee together after work. _No_ , he autocorrected, it was the first time that he knew of. The bouncers seemed to know each other quite well, and it was likely that coffee was a habit between them. Why hadn’t he noticed before today? Perhaps did they only go for coffee when their night shift ended late: since Connor had joined the team, it was the first time they’d finished after six in the morning. Or perhaps was it simply the first time they felt comfortable enough around him to invite him along. 

Either way, Connor regretted that he couldn’t follow them: he sincerely appreciated their company, but really didn’t have time to linger. Hank was going to wake up soon, and him finding the couch empty was out of the question. 

* * *

At Maddie’s, only just open, ten nightclub bouncers were having breakfast with an energy the few freshly out of bed businessmen and -women around them didn’t share. 

“I still think it’s weird,” said one of them happily chewing a slice of grilled bacon. 

“What is?” asked Tyler, closest to her, delightfully sipping a caramel latte macchiato - his guilty pleasure. 

“Well, y’know, the android you’ve got in your team.”

“Connor,” James corrected her. 

“Yeah. The guy’s doing a wholla great job, but he looks like he’s straight out of some cop school, don’t ya think?”

“Good point, Sherlock,” teased Tyler. 

“My _point_ is,” the woman - Abby - went on before interrupting herself to loudly swallow a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “My point is, I’d be bloody surprised he _isn’t_ a cop.”

“Better than that: he’s a detective at the police station,” Lenny confessed in a low tone. “He works two jobs.”

“No shit?” another bouncer from the second team reacted from across the table. 

“Hush,” Lenny moderated, “ ’s kinda secret.”

“But his real job must pay much better than the _Rooftop_ ,” Abby said, lowering her voice too.

“You don’t know that,” Ethan intervened. “Androids don’t get paid the same as humans.”

“Either way, he’s way overqualified to be a bouncer,” someone pointed out.

“Yeah,” Abby approved. “Why on Earth would an android want to get bored with us all night long? Not like he has a family to provide for, or something.”

To that, the members of Tyler’s security team exchanged hesitant glances. 

“What?” Abby pressed on, turning to James. The guy was known as the group’s gossip. “Come ooonnn, share with the class!”

“Well… not sure if I can talk about this, but… with the guys, we’re thinking, that money? It ain’t for him.”

Tyler, Ethan and Lenny nodded together, while their coworkers leaned on the table, curious. 

“Who else would it be for?”

“Some kind of… father figure, sort of,” James went on, unable to get quiet once he started talking. “We know he lives with a cop colleague of his, his partner, I believe. He doesn’t talk about it much, but I think the guy helped him go deviant, as they say.”

There was a silence, broken by a slight admirative whistle. 

“You don’t say…”

“And here I was, thinking androids didn’t have a heart,” Abby grimaced, visibly embarrassed. 

“You can’t trust appearances,” Lenny nodded knowingly. “I didn’t like him too much either, at first. But he’s actually a really good guy.”

“You won’t say anything, eh?” James implored, obviously uneasy. “He’s not the kind to talk about his life much. Maybe he’d be pissed that I told you…”

“Don’t worry, James,” Abby assured him. 

“Ain’t gonna ask about his private life if he doesn’t feel like sharing,” added another bouncer with a smile. 

“Everybody’s got their own personal stuff, anyway,” shrugged a third, which everyone agreed with. The conversation moved to the news, and no one talked about Connor anymore that morning.

* * *

Hank stretched and grunted, his bladder painfully full. God, he hated being woken up by the urge to pee. Noticing it was still dark outside, he glanced at his alarm clock and grunted again when he saw it was only half past six. With the alarm set to go off precisely one hour later, he knew there wouldn’t be time for him to really sleep again. 

Stil grumbling, he swung his legs out of bed and got up. With a loud yawn, he cautiously stretched his back and crossed the hallway to the bathroom, grimacing as he turned on the switch. Under the thick fog that enveloped his sleepy mind, he could already feel the gears of his brain starting to turn. What day was it again? Ah, Saturday. Paperwork day. Since his weeks had become so busy, he’d taken on going back to the office on weekends to wrap up his reports, while staying on call for emergencies. In spite of himself, he inwardly prayed that something - anything - would disturb his administrative work. 

When he was done relieving himself, he was already too awake to go back to bed, but still too tired to think of anything else to do. Given how dry his mouth was and how knotted his stomach felt, he instinctively went for the fridge to grab a beer, before stopping in the hallway with a frustrated sigh. _You said you were done with this bullshit, remember?_ he reasoned himself. Some days were harder than others, and he knew he couldn’t wean himself off all at once, but putting an end to the wake-up booze was the first step. He would stick to it as much as possible. 

_Coffee_ , he suddenly thought, grasping the idea as it passed by and clinging to it with all his meager mental strength. He rubbed his eyes and fell into automatic step towards the kitchen, walking past his living room without seeing it. Only when the familiar, infernal noise of the machine came up and the smell of black coffee reached his nostrils did his vision finally clear up between still heavy eyelids. He leaned against the counter and looked around his house.

With only the light of the kitchen lamp on, the living room was dark, but he immediately noticed something was amiss. He raised his eyebrows when he saw the empty couch, then frowned when he noticed Sumo was still asleep in his bed. Now where the fuck was - 

The muffled sound of a key playing in the lock made him snap his head towards the entrance. The door opened slowly and Connor appeared in the doorway, his attention focused on the keychain he was trying to pull out of the cylinder as silently as possible. When the deviant finally caught his gaze, he seemed to freeze. 

“Hello, Hank,” he said after an almost innocent silence, in a voice that was meant to sound very calm but that did not deceive his partner. Not after seeing him fucking _bug_ for a second. 

Hank mumbled a “hi” back and watched the android act most naturally, closing the door behind him with far less care than when he’d opened it, hanging his new grey jacket to the usual hook, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and kneeling down next to Sumo to scratch him behind the ears. 

“You’re up earlier than usual,” Connor remarked over his shoulder, tone light, as if he hadn’t just come in from the bloody front door before the sun was even up. 

“Had to pee,” Hank muttered. “Where did you come back from?”

Another second of that silence. Not a comfortable silence, like the ones they were used to now, but rather a hesitant silence, closer to the ones they had shared before the revolution, and Hank was convinced that Connor’s LED was cycling yellow, even though he couldn’t see it. 

“A nightclub,” the deviant announced in that same calm voice. 

Hank could only utter an inarticulate “mhmm.”

 _Connor?_ In a _nightclub??_

“Since you’re up, what do you feel like eating this morning?” the deviant asked as he stood up, passing by Hank to inspect the fridge and cupboards. “I can cook some eggs, but we don’t have much else left.”

He apparently didn’t want to talk about it, which Hank knew he had to respect, but it still didn’t make any sense. 

“Eggs will be fine,” he replied motionlessly, the gears in his brain speeding up and venting off a little more of the thick sleepy fog. 

Noting the satisfied look on Connor’s face when he noticed the coffee, Hank grinned when the deviant slipped the mug in his hand and let him cook without insisting, but didn’t stop to think either. 

Connor hated clubs, it didn’t take a detective to figure that one out. The few cases of inter-species violence in the vicinity of nightclubs they had been in charge of had been enough to make it crystal clear how much he seemed to dislike such places. So, what could he be doing there? It sure as Hell wasn’t about relaxing. 

When the deviant had finished cooking, they sat down together at the table, and the silence between them was still hesitant. 

“To be honest, I was wondering what you were doing with your nights,” Hank stated as he started to eat. “You don’t sleep at all, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” Connor confirmed. “If I want to, I can go into stasis mode for a fixed amount of time, which allows my systems to lower energy depense, but to this point I’ve never had to. I am far from reaching the limits of my ressources.”

“Even during the mess of the revolution?”

“Yes,” Connor said with a slight tilt of his head to the right. “I’ve been given an advanced self-regenerating energy system that allows me to endure far more than what my job requires. I can stay awake for more than a week of uninterrupted intense activity without showing any sign of dysfunction.”

“Damn, lucky you,” Hank snorted, impressed, before taking a sip of his coffee that was already starting to cool down. 

Connor gave him a tight grin back, but his LED fluttered briefly. Hank narrowed his eyes. 

“So, basically, you get bored when I sleep?” he went on. 

“That wasn’t true before I went deviant. Staying inactive at night was part of my instructions, because I couldn’t work alone. I didn’t find it bothersome.”

“And now?”

“Now,” Connor said slowly, as if he was carefully choosing his words, “I see time tick by with a bit more… frustration. I don’t like staying still for hours.”

“Yeah, I bet. For an active guy like you? Must be nothing short of torture.”

“A bit,” Connor nodded, apparently relieved by his understanding. “That’s why I…”

The deviant trailed off, blue LED cycling furiously now. For a moment he seemed ready to say more, but the moment died, and he pressed his lips shut without his LED calming down. 

“Hey,” Hank called softly, putting his fork down and pushing his plate away. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I just… want to know if you’re okay.”

The blue ring on his temple went a bit quieter, and Connor let out a sigh that wasn’t necessary but that seemed to soothe him regardless. 

“I’m fine, Hank. I’m just… afraid you won’t approve.”

“Of what?” Hank asked as softly as he could. 

“I’m working there. The nightclub. I’m a security guard.”

Hank couldn’t contain a surprised laugh. So that was what had him so worked up? Okay, it was unexpected, but still more fitting than imagining Connor wiggling on the dancefloor. 

“Well! I don’t see any problem with that,” he said in a comforting tone. “You do what you want with your free time. If you enjoy working two jobs…”

Suddenly doubtful, Hank interrupted himself. Beside him, Connor had stiffened on his chair, eyebrows drawn together. 

“... unless you don’t enjoy it at all,” he corrected, concerned. 

When the deviant didn’t answer, which was an admission in itself, he added in a grave tone: 

“Connor, are you having money problems?”

“What? No!” the deviant reacted, shaking his head fiercely, the yellow light of his LED reflecting on his hair - when had it turned to yellow? “No, I’m not in any trouble - I don’t see how I could possibly -”

“I don’t know,” Hank went on, increasingly worried. “Maybe for some android stuff - upgrades, or repairs, or -”

“No, I -”

“Shit, you’d tell me, right? If there was anything -”

“It’s for _you!_ ”

Connor has cut him off and all of a sudden, Hank was at a loss for words. He hadn’t seen his partner in such a state since the revolution. Breathless, LED swirling alarmingly red, his fists clenched onto the table, he looked distressed. Desperate.

“Of course it's not for me,” Connor added more quietly after a moment, but his posture was still stiff, and now he refused to meet his gaze. “I’m… I’m fine, Hank, I always will be. I was designed to be resilient, and every part of me is replaceable. But you are not,” he said, finally looking up at his partner. 

Hank still didn’t know what to say, eyebrows raised high on his forehead and mouth ajar in a stunned expression that must have looked ridiculous. The kid was worried about _him?_

“I’ve done some research, and… there are so many things that can happen to a human being. Unpredictable things, inevitable things - I… I want to be ready. I want to be able to help you… as much as I can.”

In Connor’s dark eyes, something began to glow, and Hank knew he wouldn’t regain control over his vocal chords anytime soon. So he got up, walked over to the chair the deviant was sitting on, and leaned over to take him in his arms. 

After a second, Connor rested his head against Hank’s shoulder and returned his embrace with strength, despite the awkward position. They held each other for a moment quietly, and it was a new kind of silence, neither hesitant or comfortable. This silence was vibrant, fragile, _alive._ For a while, time seemed to have frozen. 

“I’m sorry, son,” Hank finally breathed. 

“Don’t be,” Connor replied in his neck. “You’re already trying so hard.”

Hank swallowed the cynicism that spontaneously came to his mind - it was part of the habits he was trying to break - and released his partner, whose LED had gone back to a pale yellow. Without walking away, he leaned against the table and took a slightly shaky breath. Connor’s eyes seemed wetter than they had been a few seconds ago - and his own throat sure as Hell felt too tight for his own liking. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Connor admitted in a small voice. “I never meant to worry you, but I didn’t want to face this conversation either. It was easier to do something than… talk about it.”

“I understand,” Hank reassured him, before reluctantly adding, “But you have to be aware that I have an expiration date… no matter what you do.”

“I know,” Connor sighed. “It’s the way things are, and I can’t oppose that. I just… hope I can keep you out of material need, at least. Health care can be so expensive…”

Hank wished he could prove him wrong, but he just kept his mouth shut. So many people in the U.S. didn’t have enough money to take care of themselves… and he was under no illusion that, even though he was starting to get his life back together, he was still an ideal candidate for a bunch of complicated situations. And if his salary wasn’t bad, he knew he had spent too many years burning it off without thinking. 

The realization that his life was likely going right into a wall would probably have pleased him a few months earlier, but he wasn’t alone anymore. He briefly wondered how much time Connor had spent thinking about all this on his own. 

“I think I would’ve liked it better if you’d told me you were going out clubbing,” Hank tried with a timid smile. “I’d rather know you’re having fun out there instead of worrying over this old man.”

“Hank, please. It’s the least I can do,” the deviant disapproved. 

“I’m just saying it shouldn’t stop you from, you know, enjoying being alive.”

“On the contrary, it’s quite an experience,” Connor countered. When Hank cast him a skeptical glance, he hastened to develop: “Well, yes, the work isn’t great, but my coworkers are… interesting, in their own way. I don’t know anyone like them.”

“Committing infidelities to your fellow homicide cops, kid?” his partner teased. 

“Why, Lieutenant, I would never!” Connor defended himself with something that sounded like a laugh. “I simply use my free time to discover the world.”

“And what a world that is,” Hank sighed. “But I guess you’re right. There’s no point in staying locked up all night if you don’t need the rest.”

“Exactly,” the deviant grinned.

“In the meantime, Mr. Security Detective, we’re gonna be late for your second job of the day,” Hank said, taking a look at the kitchen clock - not without taking in a deep stabilizing breath. 

“Once wouldn’t be customary,” Connor replied, but he got up anyway, and took the dirty dishes to the sink. 

Hank made a quick pass to the bathroom to ready himself and soon joined his partner in the hallway. As he watched Connor adjust his impeccably cut jacket over his shoulders, Hank suddenly felt incredibly lucky, and it wasn’t a feeling he’d often experienced in his life. Today, after years of depression and neglect, after so much cynicism and self-destruction, he finally cared about someone. Someone who cared about him, too. He didn’t know what miracle had reshuffled the cards of his miserable existence, but fuck if he wouldn’t be thankful as long as he lived. Thankful and happy. 

“Hey, Connor?” he called before the deviant could open the door, grabbing his upper arm affectionately. 

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” he breathed with a smile. “For everything.”

Connor’s face lit up and he hugged Hank - because apparently that was something they were doing now. 

“No, thank _you._ ”

* * *

[Epilogue: nine days later]

**Author's Note:**

> More stories and art about Hank and Connor as a family can be found on the tumblr blog of the event: [dbh-found-family](https://dbh-found-family.tumblr.com/)! That was fun to write. Thanks for reading, take care, stay safe!
> 
> [Come chat with me on tumblr!](https://personne-tmblr.tumblr.com/)


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